Old Doctor Platt was jubilant over the part he had played in restoring Love to his own, and he rubbed his hands in glee as he pictured to himself the consternation of Mrs. Ellsworth, when she should find herself accused and detected in her plot against Love and his persecuted bride.
"Drive fast, Franklin; I'm anxious to see the madame's face when she sees the master of Ellsworth returning to claim his own!" he exclaimed, joyously, just as they came abreast of a large frame house standing close to the road about a mile from the station.
The next moment Love startled them all with a surprised and happy laugh, exclaiming:
"Look! Look! There's my old black mammy sitting there in the door of that house! Listen! She is crooning the old nursery song that charmed me in my babyhood! Let us stop here, Franklin. Perhaps she can tell us something about my wife—who knows?"
Yes, there sat black mammy in a capacious armchair in Mrs. Peters' door-way. Across her knees lay a small white bundle, and she was swaying softly back and forth, while she crooned in a low, loving monotone her favorite nursery lullaby:
"Byo, baby boy, bye—
Byo, li'l boy!
En 'e run ter 'is mammy,
Ter rock 'im in 'er arms—
Mammy's li'l baby boy!
"Who all de time er frettin' in de middle er de day?
Mammy's li'l boy, mammy's li'l boy!
Who all de time er gittin' so sleepy—
"Sho'! what am de matter now, and who am dese folks stoppin' deir kerridge in front o' de gate?" the lullaby ending in these exclamations of surprise.
Lovelace Ellsworth sprang from the carriage and rushed to the gate.
"Mammy, mammy, don't you know me? Your Marse Love?" eagerly.